I just wrote something for the first time in several months and thought I'd post it here. It needs work. It needs to be savaged.
[Update: Thanks Davis. Here are some changes.]
The Lost Touch
On my magazine a wet handprint,
ominous as, the next morning in the meadhall,
Grendel’s arm,
and on this month’s electric bill
thumbmarks like drops from a dog’s mouth
placing a warm ball on the couch:
the vestige of a husky mailman and Louisiana’s late May.
Later that summer I saw his direct geometry, from house to house,
tender between the flowerbeds, the sky of his shirt,
through the bushes, ducking under low limbs.
Terminally shy and a stutterer,
I never remember his name,
yet he makes an indelible mark on life
like a leaf’s first swoosh across the dirt, like a shadow
of a bird flicked over
the face of a child.
Our deciduous lives make thin marks upon the world,
but these scuffs, dents, furrows pressed in table wood,
chips, frays, lost paint from figurines,
these are what personalize the world.
His face is blistered in sweat and forced
from complaints along his route to wear
pale blue gloves to keep his sopping
from soaking the mail.
But I miss the message he delivered with each letter,
written in invisible words -much too shy to say aloud-
that said, I carried this, it bears my touch.
I mothered this into your hand.
Take and open in remembrance of me.
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6 comments:
i care, honey. at the beginning i thought that this was going to be about one of your children and frequently grimy hands on your things. i like that its not, though. all i remember about the mailman is the sound of the little metal flap of the mailbox, the pharynx of the house, as he opened it and slipped the magazines, victoria's secret and wired, onto the waiting desk.
We haven't received a V's Secret in months and months. Not that I keep track...
Remy,
It's good, though it takes a little long for the subject of the poem to become apparent; perhaps a title change? Let me praise a few of the poem's virtues and catalog a couple places where it could be improved:
I really enjoyed the first two metaphors about Grendel and the dog dropping the ball; each is wonderfully vivid, and we know exactly what you mean (once we know you're talking about the mailman).
"[S]opping from soaking the mail" is great. So is the last line, though I don't understand how your sweaty mailman is like Jesus.
Loved the insight on the scuffs and lost paint from figurines.
While many of your metaphors were obtuse, they were for the most part comprehensible, and added both to the vividness and clarity of the picture.
"[A]nd a husky mailman" is the first line that lets us know exactly what you're talking about, but it comes very awkwardly at the end of the line; grammatically, something like "I expect this and a husky mailman in Lousiana's late May" might be more appropriate.
I love the picture of the leaf's first swoosh across the dirt and the shadow of a bird flicked over the face of a child, but neither of these seems to be indelible, as you
have described them.
"Our deciduous lives" is great, though I have no idea what it means.
I didn't like "direct geometry," because it was unclear - are you referring to the repeated pattern of the mailman's route?
In the first stanza, two lines end with "world." God forbid that you should unintentionally rhyme, especially with the same word.
Keep it up. I'll see if I can get the Muse to drop by my place for a while, and maybe I can throw something up here too.
I chunked the egret bit, sounded nice, but didn't work. What do you think of the change with the Grendel line?
I wasn't saying anything more than he just left a remembrance like Jesus.
You're right about the grammatical introduction of the mailman. How's the new version? It was somewhat intentional to introduce the mailman late, b/c he's shy. But do you think it suffers for that cute effect?
Deciduous trees drop their foilage before winter. I love the sound of that word. Top ten sound.
Direct geometry is how mailmen tend to cut through yards, rather than walk on the sidewalk. I realize that it's obtuse, but do you think the proceeding lines don't make it clearer?
I've got nothing against rhyme dude.
I'm hoping you drop some sonic pictures on us soon as well. Thanks for the comments.
The geometry and the deciduous lives make more sense now, and I like them. I appreciate your shyness justification for the mailman's late appearance, but it does cut down on initial comprehensibility. Is there a way you could change the title such that we know what you're talking about from the start?
I don't like the change in the Grendel line though; his arm just doesn't seem ominous, perhaps not quite creepy enough. The sound of the first version was a bit better, in my opinion.
Poetry critiquing always seems like an oxymoron to me. Because anyone being the critic has no artistic lisence. Every poem is objective, so how are you "REALLY" making it better. They are words that some may like one way, some like it another, etc.. so why try to improve something that you cant prove needs help or cant prove is good as is. With music, i can tell you that one note CANNOT be played there because it is mathematically in the wrong key. But there are no factual standards in poetry other than spelling, maybe not even spelling. What I'm trying to say is, poetry is gay.
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